Fruitcake Lovers
The tension is palpable. The anxiety that sweeps through the room could be cut with the cake knife that lies abandoned on the table. Everyone is on the edge of their seats. The well manicured fingers now pick up the knife and proceed to slice. Halves. Quarters. Eighths. And then, with firm assurance that is surely a mere façade for inner turmoil and doubt, the woman proceeds to offer the cake to the second woman that sits, on the throne-like velvet backed chair. She takes one look, and shakes her head somberly. The first woman falters, her pupils sunken in disbelief. Her body convulses with tortured anguish. But the moment passes and then she smiles, as she takes back her beloved fruitcake.
I don't like pretentious women, or the Australian cricket team, two things that are far more alike than one might think. But then again no self righteous man in the whole of South Africa likes either anyway. Another thing I hate is fruitcake lovers if they smile when their cake is......
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